


Touch

by Johnlock_4_ever



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nightmare Before Christmas Fusion, Angst and Humor, Captain John Watson, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Sad with a Happy Ending, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, This is borderline crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock_4_ever/pseuds/Johnlock_4_ever
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, current king of the pumpkin patch, is getting bored by his consistent state of undeath... that is until an interesting soldier arrives in Halloween Land.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Spooky Johnlock Collection





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> ...so I can write angsty stuff after all. 
> 
> !!!!!  
> Trigger Warning:  
> Mentions of suicide  
> !!!!!

Captain John Watson had always been a self-confident, independent and self-responsible man. He had enrolled in the army despite his father’s threats to disinherit him, survived a sexuality crisis, survived a combat wound, and divorced his wife when it turned out his baby had never been his. So despite all the grief and horror that shook his family in the aftermath, it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that even death didn’t get to have a say in when and how it was invited into the world of John H. Watson.

~

So many people crowded the big room. Crying people. People John hadn’t seen in years. And Harry, his sister, kept walking straight through him with a tear-stained, pained expression on her face.  
Ah, there it was again. The bizarre dream about his own funeral. Utterly unrealistic, but dreams rarely succumbed to the bleak reality of human logic. The weirdest thing about the recurring nightmare was that it didn’t bother John in the slightest. Every night, at exactly 3:28 AM, he would wake up, look around the dark bedsit, and shake his head at the absurdity of his sleeping mind. John wrapped the blanket a little tighter around himself, simply for the physical comfort it provided. He didn’t feel scared or uneasy. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all about the strange dream. It wasn’t real and John refused to give things that others might deem _scary_ or _macabre_ so much power over him.

~

When John woke up from his usual nightmare on the 29th of January 2010, he wasn’t in his tiny bedsit in peripheral London anymore. Maybe his nightmare had tipped into another dream? John looked around the open field and discovered a large camp somewhere in the distance. The flickering orange glow that indicated several fires was the only source of light and a stark contrast against the black night sky. He started walking towards it, stopping in surprise when the ground beneath his feet wasn’t desert sand at all. Looking down, John saw that he was wearing his fatigues and combat boots – which wasn’t unusual in any way – but the latter were covered in dark mud. John kept walking towards the camp, hoping to meet some of his army mates in this weird dream. They were the only social circle he’d had before being invalided “home”. As John got closer he realised that the small camp was actually an entire city and the assumed tents turned out to be some very strangely built houses. Some of them had little towers, slanting roofs and old-fashioned chimneys. Others were modern in comparison, but all of them had an array of candles in every window. John contemplated walking back the way he came, but a sharp tug on his jacket sleeve and a canine whimper made him look down. The teeth of the dog-like skeleton released his sleeve and it turned its head as if to motivate the man to follow him. At least there was a dark red collar with an oxidised name-tag around its cervical vertebrae. John made a mental note to never question the logic behind his dreams again.

He followed the dog skeleton and was led towards a crowd of people that weren’t people at all. Vampires, ghosts, zombies, witches and werewolves, yes. But no average, living people. The dog skeleton was almost the least bizarre being among them all. The crowd’s attention was focused on something that wasn’t there yet, so John came to stand next to a more normal-looking woman. Her light brown hair was up in a big ponytail and she was wearing a white lab coat over her cat-pattern jumper.

“What are they waiting for?” John asked and the woman turned around to meet his eyes. “They’re waiting for the king of the pumpkin patch. This is so exciting, don’t you think? I’ve always wondered how things were going to be after!”

“Sorry, after _what_?” John’s confusion elicited a sad smile from the woman.

“Nice stitches,” she pointed to the Y-pattern that started at John’s collarbones and trailed down his sternum. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m Molly, by the way.” The woman reached out and John shook her hand. Her skin felt surprisingly indifferent from the cold winter air.

“I’m John,” he introduced himself. “Are you… You’re not… Listen, I don’t know what this weird dream is, but you’re human. Like me. Right?”

The sadness spread from Molly’s lips to her eyes. “I… _was_ ,” was all she could say before their conversation was interrupted by the cheering crowd of… _monsters_? _Supernatural beings_? John looked up and saw a black horse covered in an equally black rug with a painted-on skeleton trot towards the centre of the market place. Someone had put a scarecrow with a carved pumpkin head on top of the presumably undead equine creature. Despite the twisted logic behind this dream, John did a double-take when the scarecrow grabbed one of the countless torches that lit up both sides of each street and held it close to its neck, setting itself aflame. The now burning creature started to engage in some complex and well-practiced looking equine vaulting and the weird show was met with even more enthusiasm from its unusual audience. Eventually, the scarecrow came to stand on the horse’s back, bowed to its audience in a graceful manner, and jumped into the well that marked the centre of the vast square.

Everyone cheered and applauded the pumpkin king’s performance. However, what emerged from the freezing water had lost all scarecrow-like features. Instead of rug-covered straw limbs, the man was dressed in a bespoke dark pinstripe suit with a dark blue scarf adorning his slim neck. The carved pumpkin was replaced by a deathly pale but rather attractive-looking face with high cheekbones, enticing orange-glowing eyes and the most kissable cupid’s-bow lips John had ever seen. His beautiful features were framed by a mop of dark curls that covered most of his forehead. John Watson was falling for an undead creature that was nothing more than a figment of his sleeping imagination, and he was falling fast. One might even say he was completely gone. It didn’t help when a two-faced doll with an umbrella whispered something into the man’s ear that made him focus his attention on John and Molly.

“Most of you may know me as king of the pumpkin patch, but my name is Sherlock Holmes. And now, ghosts and ghouls, it is my pleasure to introduce everyone to the new inhabitants of Halloweentown,” Sherlock announced and raised one bony hand in the general direction of where John was standing. “Molly Hooper, former mortician and indecent sense of humour extraordinaire. Her macabre jokes will be a delightful addition to our work this Halloween.”

Sherlock turned to the second newcomer. The man was in his late thirties, looking miserable and dressed in ripped fatigues. Sherlock took in the pair of sad blue eyes and the scar tissue on the man’s left shoulder. His gaze lingered on the fresh bullet wound in the soldier’s left temple. It wasn’t hard to deduce that no one else was to blame for him being here. Sherlock’s lips curled into a thin smile. The broken ones were his favourite because they reminded him of himself the day he had entered Halloween Land. “And Captain John Watson, former army doctor and very experienced with fatal injuries. I know that some of you have requested an expert in restorative art before, and I have no doubt that everyone will benefit from the combined expertise of Ms Hooper and Dr Watson,” Sherlock concluded his introductory speech. While the other inhabitants of Halloweentown started chatting or going back to their houses, the tall figure approached the newbies. Taking in Molly’s state of excitement, Sherlock addressed the soldier first. “Ok, you’ve got questions. Ask away.”

“How did you do it? Set yourself on fire and come out of the well looking like…” John gestured at the man’s face. For the first time he noticed the minute stitches that seemed to hold Sherlock’s jaws together. Sherlock just arched an eyebrow as if to say “That’s your question?” and John felt stupid for focusing on an irrational detail in an irrational world. “I mean, what even is this place? It’s clearly crowded with dead people. Undead people… whatever. Why am I here? I’ve had nightmares before, but this feels different. Literally. I’ve never actually felt things in my dreams and now my feelings are all over the place. _Why am I here_?” John contained himself from shouting at the slender, attractive man, but his hands were curled into fists at his sides. He knew that his anger was misplaced, but that didn’t make it go away.

“Are you alright on your own, Ms Hooper?” Sherlock inquired and the mortician nodded. Pleased with her answer, the pumpkin king gestured for John to follow him. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you _why_ you are here, John. This is the only painful truth you’ll have to figure out on your own. But maybe it helps if I show you around your new home.”


End file.
